


Variant Yesterdays

by SherlockMalfoy



Series: The Scars on our Souls [2]
Category: Heroes (TV 2006)
Genre: Angst, Do-Over, Established Relationship, Fix-It of Sorts, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Some Fluff, Temporary Physical Disability, Time travel? Sort of?, minor character cameos, pre-abilities, technically underage Peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-25 00:12:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21347095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockMalfoy/pseuds/SherlockMalfoy
Summary: Peter Petrelli didn't know what to expect when his consciousness was flung back in time and put into his 16 year old self. But it certainly wasn't to immediately end up wrapping his dad's new Porsche around a tree and a wrought iron fence. Saving the world has to take a back seat because first, he's got to get himself sorted out.(Notes at the beginning include a summary with the least amount of information necessary from"Tomorrow's Epitaph"for those that chose not to read it due to the trigger warning I strongly suggested people pay attention to.)
Relationships: Peter Petrelli/Sylar | Gabriel Gray
Series: The Scars on our Souls [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1537978
Comments: 1
Kudos: 35





	Variant Yesterdays

**Author's Note:**

> For those who didn't read part 1 of this series b/c of the tw there, here's a summary of what happened.  
_TOMORROW'S EPITAPH - Peter and Sylar become lovers in Parkman's nightmare world behind the Wall. After the Carnival, Peter breaks it off to be with Emma. Peter cheats on Emma with Sylar. Emma breaks up with him. Peter becomes self destructive. Sylar goes to Emma and convinces her to talk to Peter. The three end up in a surprisingly happy and healthy relationship together. Peter later marries Emma, but the three of them consider all of them married to each other. Emma gets pregnant with twins. She's later murdered. Peter and Sylar find out that she was carrying a child from each of them. Angela is forced to give up The Company assets to the Government to keep what remains of her family from being taken in and killed as an example. Specials blame Claire for the state of things for them in the world. Angela convinces Sylar to act as her bodyguard and covert assassin after she tells him why Emma was really murdered ("population control"). Peter once again becomes self destructive and lies to himself rather than face reality of what's going on. Heidi Petrelli, now prejudiced against Evos because of her history with Nathan and his family, discovers her son Monty is one (he has flight) and makes a deal with the Govt. to help them get their hands on the remaining Petrelli Evos (by this time, though it's not in the media, everyone's pretty sure Angela Petrelli has something to do with the murders carried out by an international serial killer). Angela is killed and Sylar flees with Simon and Monty Petrelli. He makes it back home to Peter before succumbing to his injuries - one of the bullets got too close to his kill spot and as a result of having to move about quickly and carry the teenagers, the bullet worms its way deeper and makes it to his kill spot. Peter digs it out, and he recovers. Peter, Sylar, and the Petrelli boys flee New York, following instructions in a journal left to Sylar by Angela in the event of her death. A year later, Noah Bennet and Claire arrive at their hiding place in Nevada with a truck load of Evos. Claire shoots Sylar. Peter has to step in, which puts him into the leadership role for the war that follows. They fight a losing war for decades, and the normal humans develop a bio-weapon to use against Evos that is based on the Shanti Virus and similar poisons excreted by Evos like Maya Herrera pre-depowering by Arthur. The bio-weapon is called "The Cure", as it's seen by humans as a cure for the mutation that results in Evos. What it really does is infect, depower, then slowly kill them. In normal humans, it prevents the genetic marker for Evos to be passed on, causing miscarriages and stillbirths of Evos until they are bred out of the population. Peter, Claire, and Sylar make a last stand at their base knowing it's the end. Claire and Peter are captured, and Sylar is neutralized and believed destroyed after the base is turned to a smoldering crater. Claire is killed in a public execution, since she was a symbol of the Evos from the moment she exposed them. Peter is tortured for information, but he does not break. He is then infected and left to die. Sylar, turns out, survived and begins butchering his way across the US, killing every non-Evo he comes across indiscriminately. Because of this, those holding Peter dose him with a drug to stave off the effects of The Cure, and resume torture and interrogation. He refuses to break and tries to kill himself instead. They begin dosing him with other drugs as well to keep him docile. This lasts for four years before Sylar meets a precog and a clairvoyant. The clairvoyant locates Peter in Siberia. Sylar and some Evo fighters rescue Peter, but cannot help him. Peter's condition deteriorates and he ends up in a vegitative state, and all Sylar can do is watch his husband slowly die. Peter decides, and tells Sylar via a telepath, that he wants to die. The day he is to die, the precog reveals he isn't actually a precog but a temporal manipulator and he can send a person's consciousness forward or backward through their own lifetime, though he admits that he doesn't know what happens when he sends people backwards because they are gone from his Sight, and that forwards or backwards they WILL have scars that they carry with them that will physically manifest on their bodies. Peter knows he's dead either way so he decides to take the risk. Sylar agrees to be sent back with him because without Peter he has nothing left. Their bodies in the present die. The story ends with Gabriel Gray in 1996 waking up in the middle of the night as if from a nightmare, rushing to his bathroom as the future consciousness is settling itself into and overcoming his past self. He realizes they went back further than anticipated and he's much younger than he expected. He passes out from the pain of the scars he was warned about appearing on his body._

There was a lot of pain.

He hadn’t been expecting that.

Then again, he hadn’t expected to go from laying paralyzed in a room where he couldn’t even feel if his nose itched let alone get frustrated about not being able to scratch it to blaring lights, honking horns and oh shit! Is that a tree?!

Peter Petrelli’s arrival into his past came at a most inconvenient moment during the night of a seemingly ordinary summer in 1996.

Though it didn’t help that he wasn’t even aware of anything past a loud crash, a rather loud crack of bone and the crunch of metal pinning his now useless legs in place as the car he’d been joyriding in found itself inexplicably wrapped the wrong end first around a tree and wrought-iron fence combo.

Then there was pain.

A lot of pain.

And despite the agony causing him to black out Peter was kind of glad to be feeling ANYTHING again.

Nathan Petrelli and his fiance, Heidi, who’d been properly welcoming him home now that his stint in the Navy was over and done with, raced in the dark of night across the city after the panicked phone call of his mother.

Heart racing, thoughts in a flurry of panic, Nathan and Heidi rushed inside through the emergency entrance, the hospital’s main doors were closed at this hour. A frantic flurry of words and soon they were told to take a seat and wait to be called. Nathan slammed a fist on the counter and growled angrily as Heidi flinched, unaccustomed to such an outburst, but given the circumstances…

She reached out and took him gently by the elbow. “Nathan, let’s just…. Let’s sit down.”

“That’s my baby brother back there damn it!”

“I know, Nathan. But you need to-”

“He’s fighting for his life and I-”

She gently urged him to come with her. To sit with her and wait to be called. They didn’t have long to wait really. It just felt like it stretched into eternity given the nature of the situation. When they were called back, Nathan nearly yanked her out of her seat in his hurry to follow the orderly that had been sent to fetch them. If Nathan were to be asked for directions to the family consultation room he and Heidi were led to, he’d have a hard time even telling if the first turn from the emergency room was a left or a right.

The moment he stepped into the room, he was pulled into his sobbing mother’s arms. He held her close, her face buried in her older son’s chest as she held on tight. He stroked her hair and looked past her to his father. Stone faced and silent. It was Heidi, bless her kind soul, who had spoken first. “What happened?”

“Your brother decided to take the new Porsche for a joyride.”

Nathan couldn’t be certain if the man was more upset about the fact his younger son had wrecked the car his father had owned for barely a week, or that his son hadn’t died in the accident. It wasn’t exactly a family secret that Peter and their father didn’t get along. Hell, despite the paternity test Arthur had forced on her and the baby Peter a month and a half after the boy’s birth, the man still didn’t want much to do with him. Nathan suspected he only put up with Peter to keep their mother happy and to keep the peace at home.

Angela eventually settled down into a troubled slumber in an uncomfortable hospital chair, leaning across the plastic armrests and using Heidi’s shoulder, who was equally unconscious, as a pillow.

Nathan had found his way to the hospital chapel doing everything from begging to demanding - even outright threatening God himself - to save his baby brother’s life.

After twelve hours of surgery, punctuated only by minor updates that equated to “he hasn’t died on the table yet,'' the family finally learned of the youngest Petrelli’s fate.

“He’s stable and is in recovery right now. But… we won’t know when, or even if he will wake until the anesthesia has a chance to wear off.”

Peter Petrelli was in a coma for two months.

During that time, Angela and Arthur had thirty-seven arguments, two threats to kill one another, and Nathan had to temporarily move back home to keep his mother from actually following through with it.

At which point Nathan learned that yes, he was right in his assumption two months ago that his father was indeed more upset at the loss of the car than the potential loss of his son’s life.

As for Peter himself… It was a lonely eternity trapped in his head. Two months felt like… he didn’t know for certain. And thought he was going mad. He could… sense, sort of, when people were nearby. He knew he was dreaming. He knew the world he found himself in day after day wasn’t real.

That’s why he started building it.

The Wall.

Brick by brick. To keep the nightmares trapped. To keep the memories from ruining whatever hell he found himself in.

And he was glad he did when he felt a harsh push against his… thoughts? Mind? Did he even have a mind here in this place? Was he even alive? - Whatever, whoever it was trying to intrude on his personal purgatory, they weren’t welcome and he made that known, too.

Arthur Petrelli wasn’t used to not getting what he wanted.

He wanted to know what the hell Peter was thinking that night, stealing his car when the idiot boy had only just gotten his learner’s permit a few months before. Despite outward appearances - oh yes he knew exactly what his wife and older son privately thought of his relationship with Peter - he actually was concerned about the unwanted brat. At least if he was brain dead he wouldn’t have the murder of his own kin on his conscience when he ordered they pull the plug next month.

But even that decision was being reconsidered as he kept meeting with a barrier in the comatose boy’s mind. It was fascinating, taking in the landscape of Peter’s mind that before had been an ocean of jumbled thoughts and snatches of feeling. Nothing solid. Nothing concrete as the boy lived with his head in the clouds. But this?... A concrete jungle devoid of life and sound. Occasionally a fleeting nightmare that would be gone as soon as it was found. Replaced by walls. Large, red brick walls. Solid. Surprisingly so as he tried, and failed, to penetrate them.

Perhaps if the child ever woke… Arthur may have to reconsider his usefulness. After all, he had been through a life changing experience. Highly traumatic, too. He would need to be tested. Yes… Yes. Arthur could easily rearrange some plans if Peter’s ability had already begun to manifest. It depended on what the boy could do. Would he be a weak willed Shaw like his mother or would he have an ability that would make his father proud?

When Peter woke in the hospital, it took him a few moments to come to grips with where he was, how he got there, and why he was so damn weak. Was he still infected? Did it work or was this just another nightmare? Where was Sy… Gabriel. No, he had decided to start calling him Gabriel now. It only took an entire fucking lifetime and four years of torture and isolation to reach that point but... Better late than never when dealing with an immortal killing machine.

He was trying and failing to move his arm up to scratch his nose - he could feel his nose! It was itchy! Did it work then? - He was marveling at the fact he could at least feel things on his skin when the nurse stopped what she was doing and stared at him in disbelief. Not that he noticed. He was still in awe of the fact he could blink his own eyes and see and his nose when he crossed them - God above his nose was itchy!

She screamed in surprise. This was followed by paging for more nurses and the doctor on duty.

Two weeks and yup, it seemed Dan had worked his ability and Peter was indeed in the past. A new timeline, in fact, because he never crashed the Porsche in the first timeline. No, he’d made it to Kevin Donnahue’s house and got caught by the boy’s mother having sex on the couch when his parents were meant to be visiting his sick grandfather in Boston.

But no. From the best he could piece together, the temporal manipulator had sent him to the exact moment he was seeing how fast he could make his dad’s new car go around corners. This time he lost control of the car in that pivotal moment and then the timeline changed…

Peter pushed these thoughts behind his brick wall when the door to his private room opened and his father came in behind his mother.

Gone, for now, was the hardened soldier and a leader of the Evo resistance. Replaced with the remorseful, regretful, and cowed teenage boy he had once been over half a century before. It wouldn’t do to have Arthur see behind his defenses. Not yet. Not ever if Peter could help it.

His mother fussed over him, smoothing out the blanket at his waist and telling him he needs to eat more. Asking if he wants some water. Something to eat? Oh how tired he looks… it’s impossible to get enough sleep in this place with people coming and poking and prodding him at all hours of the night. And oh his face. His handsome face ruined…

He reached for the rolling table that was kept at his bedside, searching for the hand mirror Heidi had brought him from home the last time she had visited with Nathan. It was so… strange to see that scar on his very young face.

“Once you’ve recovered and… and are back home we’ll get you a plastic surgeon-”

“I don’t know ma… I kinda like it.”

_** “It’s a scar…”** _

“I think I'll keep it.”

“Why?”

Peter shrugged and looked at his dad. “A reminder to myself.”

_ _ ** ** _** “A reminder of what I was. What I can be.”** _

Angela continued to fuss over him. Arthur observed. And occasionally prodded - only to be met with the solidness of the wall again. But he was distracted from his task by his son’s quiet words to his mother.

“I had...dreams. Strange dreams, Ma,” Peter said, knowing his father was listening. “I don’t understand. I mean, usually I… it’s stupid. Never mind.”

Angela smiled, but Peter could see it was as fake as his father’s tolerance of him. “It’s only dreams, Peter. Dreams aren’t meant to make sense.”

“Yeah… yeah I guess you’re right. But… promise me you won’t get mad at Dad again about that secretary. She’s lying and only wants the family money. She thinks she can blackmail dad with a fake paternity suit.”

“Peter…”

He shrugged. “Nathan… talked a lot when he visited and I was… sleeping. Maybe it was just my brain trying to make sense of what he was saying while I was in the coma.”

“Yes… yes that must be it,” she said, rising from her seat at Peter’s bedside and leaned down to smooth out his hair, placing a soft, motherly kiss to the top of his head. “Don’t give your nurses a hard time. And when the new physical therapist comes to talk about your arm exercises-”

“Don’t call them names and hurl a bedpan. I know. I’m sorry about that, Ma. I really am. I was having a nightmare and she just caught me at a bad time.”

“You’re lucky your father convinced her not to press charges,” she chided him, and gave him another peck on the top of the head before leaving with her husband.

Alone again, Peter sighed and lay back against the pillows.

“Well,” he said to himself after a while, picking up a book from his bedside table. “Half a working body is better than I started with.” He sighed and settled in with the thick, hardback book he’d had his brother go buy for him. And as he read about the building of a cathedral in Kingsbridge, he couldn’t help but wonder if somewhere out there, Gabriel had made it back, too.

If so, Peter sincerely hoped he didn’t find himself in a similar position.

The life of Gabriel Gray was… well, it wasn’t exactly normal. He marveled at the mundane. The commonplace.

He certainly wasn’t going to take his bland, boring life for granted a second time.

The man certainly had a newfound appreciation for even the most simple of foods. Hell, he’d even stopped complaining when his mother insisted on making him a tuna sandwich every time he visited her.

And he had to visit. Every Tuesday after work. Otherwise there would be a repeat of what had happened two months ago. If he didn’t visit, and she could see with her own two eyes that he was safe and sound then she would come all the way to his apartment and check on him herself.

Which is exactly what she had done when he hadn’t called her as he did every Wednesday before she went to mid-week evening service. She had used the spare key he had given her when he moved into the new apartment at the start of May when her worry got the better of her. Virginia had found her precious son unconscious on his bathroom floor with a head wound and dried blood on him.

It was not a fun couple of days just to be told he suffered from a concussion.

It was also not a fun week after he was released from the hospital with mild painkillers because his mother had insisted she practically move in with him when he flat refused to move back home with her.

Over the following two months as he adjusted to the fact that this was not his personal hell and he was most certainly not dead. Gabriel also realized how… quiet his thoughts were. He didn’t have the Hunger riding his ass or Nathan fucking Petrelli flitting in and out of his conciousness at inconvenient moments. And wasn’t that a trip for a good portion of his life with Peter…

Peter who, if his math was right, was currently 16 years old.

Sixteen with no abilities in a house with Arthur and Angela Petrelli. No escape. No help.

And there was very little Gabriel could do about it at the moment even if he knew for certain that Peter had come back down the rabbit hole with him.

Inspiration struck Gabriel as he was sitting with his mother in church one Sunday morning.

Jesus of Nazareth had to have been a Special. He had to have been an Evo. How else could anyone explain the miracles he could do? He had seen first hand the healing abilities of Evo medics in battle. Had seen the effects a single syringe of blood from an Undying soldier had on the mortally wounded in the infirmaries.

At least it distracted him as his mother tried to point out the very nice and very pretty daughters of various ladies from her Sunday School class. Not that he didn’t find some of them quite pretty indeed, and now knew exactly how to get what he wanted from whomever he wanted… it still felt like cheating. And wasn’t that a surprise - guilt! Honest guilt over betraying one person who didn’t even know he existed and another that may or may not actually be sixteen going on seventy-something. But he was polite to anyone his mother tried to introduce him to. He shook hands and he made light conversation, deliberately steering the topic to watches and clocks to keep others at arms’ length.

It was easier this way. Waiting until he could be certain. Until he could find a way to locate and reach out to Peter and know whether he was stranded here alone or not. It was a rare moment in time when he lamented not having ready access to Nathan’s memories. At least then he’d have some guidance, some starting point to work from.

But no, as he sat in church with his mother, contemplating the legitimacy of Jesus of Nazareth’s claims to godhood or his powers stemming from an early mutation of human genetics, he had to have blind faith that if all else failed he and Peter would meet again. If not in Odessa, Texas then Kirby Plaza. If not there then… who knew. If he didn’t kill Chandra Suresh this time maybe their paths would cross as the scientist sought out others. Nathan’s name was on the list, after all. His photo tacked to the map. It was only a matter of time. And if his long life had taught him nothing else, it taught him that patience was a virtue indeed.

When Peter finally was able to go home after three months in the hospital, two of them in a coma, he hated it. His bedroom was moved from the second floor to the first. What had been a parlor was now Peter’s private space. Provided he didn’t mind his mother coming and going as she pleased. He couldn’t blame her much for that though. It was a tragedy she hadn’t foreseen. She’d nearly lost one of her sons long before his time. He could do without her trying to dress him every morning though.

“Damn it Ma! I can still bend forward and haul up my own underwear!” he had bellowed one morning when he’d just simply had enough. “I’m not an invalid!”

That was the last time she had intruded so intimately on him.

Though it might have also had something to do with the fact he had his hands under the blanket, hadn’t hauled himself into a sitting position using the hand rails that had been installed on his bed, and was mourning the fact that he’d had a very vivid dream about a gorgeous blond and a tall, dark, and dangerous man sandwiching him between them and couldn’t do a damn thing about it when he woke up. Angela had just walked in at a bad time and caught him failing to even get a twitch of interest below the waist.

It was awkward when he’d rolled himself up to the breakfast table that morning. His mother wouldn’t look at him. Peter’s cheeks stayed a sort of perma-red as he kept his head down and studiously ignored his parents in favor of suddenly finding his oatmeal the most interesting thing in all the world.

Once Arthur had sussed out from his wife’s thoughts what the problem was, he couldn’t help but be amused. And bring up a topic that Peter had avoided at every turn since the second week he’d been awake. “School started last week.”

“I know.”

“Your mother and I decided to hire private tutors so you don’t fall behind.”

“Sure. Keep the cripple at home where no one can see him. Don’t want to tarnish that perfect Petrelli image,” Peter muttered under his breath. “Thanks dad.”

“That’s not why, Peter.”

“Really? I was ready to go back last week. Hell, I was ready to back the week before. But instead I’m kept here like a prisoner in my own home. Confined to these few rooms and these same walls-”

“We only want to keep you safe, Peter! After your reckless-”

Arthur raised his hand to silence his wife. “No, Angela. let him speak his mind.”

“I’m not stupid. I know Nathan offered to take me in when I was released. And I don’t even mind being home-schooled for a while so I have time to adjust. That at least makes sense. Ma wanting me close by… alright fine. She’s my mother of course she’s going to be like this. But you hate me.”

“Your father doesn’t hate you.”

“Yes he does. He never wanted me and from day one I’ve been nothing but a disappointment. But now? Look at me! I’m sixteen, crippled, and pretty much my only use now is to get you sympathy.” As if to add emphasis, he stabbed his oatmeal with his spoon. “And I’m fine with that. I stopped caring what dad thinks of me a long time ago. But I won’t be a prisoner. I want to go out. I want to see my friends. I want to go back to school.”

He wanted to get away from a house of ghosts and all the eyes and the secrets and the lies. He wanted to go find Gabriel. He needed to find him like he needed air to breathe.

Peter may not have had his abilities, but he still had that gaping void in his very soul that ached with each passing day that he was apart from Gabriel.

Breakfast ended with an argument and Peter rolling angrily away after being told to expect the first of his tutors the next day. But not without Peter’s parting pot-shot, telling Arthur to “Act surprised when Mr. Parkman calls to tell you the Henley case has been settled and that secretary Joleene won’t be bothering you anymore either.”

Was it cruel of Peter to use his knowledge of the past to his advantage? Perhaps. Did he really care all that much about being confined to the house? A little, but not as much as he let on. Pretending to be an upset teenager was exhausting and it wasn’t even noon yet. Any personality changes, as long as they weren’t too drastic, could be chalked up to his near death experience. Could be attributed to the tragedy of losing the use of his legs.

But beyond that… he had to be careful for now. He couldn’t have a repeat of what happened with that poor physical therapist. He wasn’t lying when he said he’d had a nightmare. In his dreams he had been reliving the final battle of the war. The one where he and Claire were taken and he had thought Gabriel killed in the airstrike on the Nevada bunker. He woke in an unfamiliar place with machines hooked up to him. He forgot where he was and thought he was back in the war. Back in some human experimentation lab, forced to use whatever was at hand to afford an escape. Kill or be killed and when he’d dragged himself across the room with just his arms and ripped out his IV well… it was a wonder he hadn’t killed the poor woman with that steel bedpan.

Overall he had to stick to the plan he’d made in the hospital. He had to make his parents believe he’d manifested an ability. Angela’s was the easiest to fake. His knowledge of certain events outside of his own personal life was enough that he could pepper in vague warnings here and there. If they hit the mark, great. If not then he could always use the same stock phrase is mother had when things didn’t quite go to plan.

He couldn’t always interpret what his dreams meant. He didn’t even understand them most of the time. Plus, he was only 16 still. And his ability newly manifest. He wouldn’t have any way to control it and if that meant his mother took pity or his father began to see him in another light outside of Nathan’s shadow then he was one step closer to getting what he needed. One step closer to fixing his broken body and leaving to find his husband.

Peter’s decision to take the risk wasn’t entirely selfish though. Yes, he wanted a second chance to live. In the face of certain death, who didn’t? But at the same time, he hadn’t expected to be flung back into time so far. This time he had a chance to do more - be more. This time he wouldn’t just save the cheerleader. He would save the world.

But first… first he had to save himself.

“You know dad’s going to kill me for this.”

“Yeah, but what’s he going to do? Put a LoJack on my chair? Oh I’m so scared,” Peter said with a laugh, resting his hands on the wheels of his chair, ready to start rolling at any moment. “Come on Nathan… I can’t spend my days holed up in the house all the time. I need fresh air.”

“You can get plenty of that in the garden at mom and dad’s.”

Peter shook his head with a sigh and rather than say anything, he moved his chair. “Come on. Let’s get a funnel cake or something. Make it worth the lecture I’ll be getting when you get me home.”

“And the shouting match I’ll end up having with dad. Yeah, sure. Funnel cakes!” Nathan called sarcastically after him as he jogged after the chair rolling down the sidewalk. His jog became a run as he realized Peter led him towards a downwards slope. “Peter! Damn it Pete! You wanna break your neck?! Slow down!”

When Peter returned home things were… explosive. Peter didn’t get a lecture. He got a full dressing down. And it took everything in him to swallow back his bile and bite his tongue. By the time Arthur was done with him and Peter had rolled angrily away - which was mostly just Peter trying not to hit anything on his way back to his room. Though, just to be a dick he did “bump” into one of his father’s favorite vases - a priceless gift from some mobster client Peter was sure - and let gravity finish the job with a crash.

When Angela and Nathan came to check on him later, he still hadn’t calmed down. To the point that when he heard the door open he didn’t even wait to see who it was before hurling the paperweight from his desk towards the door. Luckily Nathan caught it before it could strike their mother. Though he did immediately toss it to a cushioned chair and shake his hand out. “Too bad about the legs, Pete. With an arm like that you’d make a great pitcher.”

Peter scoffed, unlocking the brakes on his chair just to turn his entire body towards them, put the locks back into place, and sit back to glare at them. One hand rested on his thigh, the other tapped the arm of his chair in annoyance. “What do you want?”

“Can’t a mother come to comfort her son when he’s upset?”

“You? Comfort someone else?” Peter said, bitterness laced in his voice before he could stop himself. “Who are you really trying to comfort, Ma? Me, or yourself?”

“Watch your tone with Ma, Peter. She’s just worried about you. We all are.”

“Define _ all _. Dad doesn’t seem too worried. Maybe he’s worried that if I get myself killed or worse he’d have to put in effort to look like he cares-”

“Your father loves you. He just… is under a lot of pressure. His job is very stressful and his clients don’t make it any easier for him.”

“Well that’s what happens when all your clients are actually guilty,” Peter clapped back. “Trust me. Mr. Parkman isn’t exactly a pillar of virtue. Not with what he does in his free time,” he said, then added as an afterthought, “And I’m not talking about the ponzi schemes and ripping off the mob. Don’t even get me started on the double dealings his friend Mr. Linderman-”

“That’s enough Peter!” Angela exclaimed angrily, causing Peter to hold up both his hands in a show of disgust and frustration. “You have no idea what you’re talking about!”

“You have no idea the things I see when I close my eyes!” he shouted at them, clenching his fist and slamming it angrily into the armrest of his chair. “I’m cooped up here all the time! Stuck in this damn chair! Guys my age are out there hanging with friends! Dating! Sneaking into movies, toilet papering houses, working at some burger joint and…. And I have to convince my brother to sneak me out for a damn funnel cake! It’s not fair and it’s not right!”

“So tell us! Tell us what your nightmares are about! Nobody knows what the hell you were doing that night, Peter so why don’t you enlighten us. Maybe if you come clean it’ll make you settle your ass down and we can all move on from this!”

Peter glared at his brother. “Yeah, I’m not stupid. The moment I do, you’ll go running off to dad like you always do-”

“Are you kidding me right now? Did you not just sit through the same shouting match I did with the old man where he ripped me a new one worse than you?”

“That’s because you disappointed him and humored me. I’m just a walking - excuse me - rolling disappointment. He expects better out of you than he does me. Always has. Always will.”

Frustrated that they were just going to keep going in circles, Nathan growled at him and left, slamming the door behind him and not seeing their mother flinch as she stood there in his wake. After a long moment, Peter turned his eyes to her as she sighed and her body seemed to relax a bit more. “May I have a seat, Peter?”

“Sure you don’t want to ask dad? His chair. His house. His everything.”

Angela bit her tongue to keep from rising to her son’s bait. She crossed the room, making it clear she intended to be there for more than a few moments longer. Peter watched her like a hawk as she began to make his bed for him. Smoothing out the sheets and the quilt before having a seat on it. He took the locks off his wheels and maneuvered to the bookshelf. The bright side of having his room moved downstairs, he had plenty of space for books. Plenty of space for his action figures and his movie collection. Most of it horror and science fiction, of course, like most red-blooded American boys.

He heard her sigh behind him. “What happened to my precious boy, Peter?”

“He looked death in the eye and said fuck you, I’m not going.”

“Language.”

Peter drew in a deep breath and turned his chair, some, so he could sort-of see her from the corner of his eye. “I nearly died, Ma. And I know… I know I’m a miserable brat. And it’s hard on you and Nathan. And… dad. But I can’t be held here against my will. I need to know there’s at least a day, an hour, maybe just a few minutes when I can go out past our own sidewalk. Go into the city and just… pretend that I’m normal like everyone else. That I don’t have these… these dreams every time I go to sleep-”

“What kind of dreams, Peter?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he said, looking back to his shelves just so she couldn’t read his true intentions in his face. His mind was sharp, and his old soul very skilled at the subtleties of manipulation after years fighting a losing war. After all, he had learned at the knee of this very woman how to move people around like pieces on a chessboard. His brother Nathan was the best example of duplicity and the twisting or words to achieve his goals. But at the same time his body was young. It had been so long since he’d been a teenager that he forgot there were just some things he couldn’t pull off with a baby face like his. Some expressions which lost their weight simply because he couldn’t grow a beard to cover the half of his face that most often betrayed his thoughts and intentions. “Another reason I need to get out more. Too much tv and movies. Starting to rot my brain. Give me nightmares…”

“Who’s Emma?”

That got his attention. And he really didn’t want to turn around. “I don’t know.”

“You scream her name in your sleep often enough. Thankfully, not when your father’s home.”

“I… She’s just this woman that keeps dying in my dreams. Look, Ma, it’s nothing. Really.”

“You seem awfully defensive for something that’s unimportant.”

“What do you want me to say here Ma? That I dream the future? Is that it? I dream about Nathan dying, too you know. One time he was killed by some super powered serial killer. In another one I cut his head open like a melon. And when I’m not dreaming about my family dying all around me, it’s the world that’s falling apart. Bombs raining from the skies. Human beings held in cages like animals. Trapped and tortured and begging to die. But a lot of them can’t. The moment they die, they come right back. Like some… sick science experiment.” As he spoke his voice got lower. His tone darker. He couldn’t help it. The future - his past - was a scar on his soul that would never heal.

It would color - had colored - every decision he made from the moment his eyes opened in the hospital and he was aware at least half of his body worked instead of nothing at all. He clenched his fists in his lap and closed his eyes, trying to block out the ratta-tat-tat of gunfire and the screams of the dying and the metallic tang of the air as blood drenched him from head to toe through the trenches that cut across Romania. “More often than not I dream of being locked in a room for years at a time. A bed. A sink. Not even a mirror just in case I try to off myself. Experimented on. Drugged. Tortured. Interrogated. They want to know things. They want me to tell them things I don’t know… And every day I spend locked in this house I feel like it’s coming true.”

“Peter…”

“I feel like a prisoner and I can’t… Some of my dreams have come true, Ma. I lied when I said Nathan used to complain to me when I was in my coma. I mean,” he said, raking a hand through his hair. “He did. A lot. But he didn’t tell me about dad’s secretary trying to blackmail him with a fake baby. I dreamed about it. I dreamed about a lot of things when I was in the coma. Things I can’t possibly know, but I do. And it scares me. And one day I know someone’s just going to show up and drag me out of here and lock me in that room and try to make me tell them things. And I’m…”

He didn’t hear her move, and when he felt her hand slide across his shoulders as she leaned in to embrace him from the side, he flinched in response. She only hugged him to her tighter. Kissed the top of his head, then stroked his hair as she sighed. Despite his self-imposed mission, despite the long decades of fighting and bloodshed and constant violence… he could not help himself. He melted into her hold. He let himself be held and comforted.

He was so tired of it all.

And for this brief time… Peter could admit to himself that he missed this. He missed her. Even the condescending way she often reminded him that she loved him.

They stayed like this a moment longer before she finally let him go. “I’ll talk to your father tomorrow after breakfast. It would be best if-”

“If I take my dinner and breakfast on the veranda. I know.”

When Peter wasn’t wasting the time of his tutors, the cleaning staff, a singular visit from Nathan to apologize for the last time he was there, his physical therapist, his regular therapist, and the one time his mother came to take him to an appointment with a neurologist, he was generally left alone.

But after all of that he was surprised after mass when his father suggested Angela go on home without the both of them. Peter was… concerned.

And he had every right to be when his father had him bundled up into a limousine. His chair had been put into the trunk and his bookbag which always hung off the handles was put in next to him. Being alone with Arthur was not something Peter had expected, nor experienced enough in his life - either one of them. He kept his attention on the busy street outside the window. He waited until they were far enough from the church to bother speaking up. It was clear his father wasn’t going to. “Where are we going?”

He didn’t get an answer. So Peter didn’t push for one.

But he did feel like a bug under a microscope as his father sat in silence and observed.

Gabriel woke on Sunday morning with a knot in his gut.

The entire day he was anxious and couldn’t figure out why.

He chalked it up to jet lag - he had just returned from a trip to Michigan the evening before. A watch symposium, he’d told his mother before he left. Really, it was to secure resources. Abandoned resources.

Without his abilities it was difficult to manage, but experience more than made up for it. He was the proud owner of a new, rather large, storage unit in Long Island. It was the same company he and Peter had used after Emma… Well. It was a company he was familiar with. One he could get to easily without arousing too much suspicion. And if Adam Monroe ever broke out on his own and found that one or more of his private collections had gone missing then… it’s not like he’d even know who took it all.

Now he just waited for the phone call to say his delivery arrived and he could open up the unit and have it all tucked away for a rainy day.

At this exact moment though... he sat in Kirby Plaza, a cup of coffee in one hand and a breakfast sandwich in the other. Sitting. Just… sitting. It was better than wasting his morning in church with his mother so that was an improvement on his usual routine.

He hadn’t known what compelled him to come. The place would, he hoped, be just another random place in New York. Never to hold any real significance save in memories of a future that he wouldn’t allow to happen.

The breakfast hour came and went and he found himself bored out of his mind, wishing he’d had the foresight to bring a book with him. Then again, he hadn’t set out to spend his day in a place where one of his worst memories lived. Even just thinking about the last time he was there… Gabriel rubbed at his chest where the scar from Hiro’s sword had impaled him. The scar, and it’s matching exit wound on his back, that had manifest itself from the damage it had left on his very soul. The flesh about it twinged, the nerves briefly reacting - a slight burning sensation.

By the time lunch had come, he found himself sitting and staring at that awful orange sculpture, wondering why someone would think stairs leading to nowhere were something everyone should be forced to look at. Though it was better than some of the pieces he’d seen over the years. Better than that giant bean thing, that was certain.

Gabriel was pondering the bean sculpture, actually, and if it had even been erected yet when an unsettlingly familiar face passed his field of vision. He felt his face pull into a frown before he took a gulp of his watered down pop and started to get up from where he’d planted himself, but stopped when he saw-

“Peter?...” he whispered to himself as the man’s companion turned in his chair to reach for something hanging off the back of it. They looked like they were having one hell of a heated conversation if the look on the teenager’s face was anything to go by.

Gabriel watched as a teenage Peter spoke rather animatedly if his constant gesticulating was anything to go by. He lost sight of them when a glass door was opened and Peter rolled inside ahead of the man Gabriel remembered far too well for his liking.

He waited until dusk, seeing no sign of the pair again. But he had hope at least, that it would not be a one-time occurrence. Something had drawn him there that day. Had led him to a place where they may cross paths. He had to hope that it would not be the only time such a compulsion would take hold of him.

Peter stared at the table.

His father had brought him to one of the satellite offices of his law firm. Peter hadn’t been here since he was a boy.

On the table of the lavishly furnished penthouse he’d been brought to, was a blank journal and a pen. Gifts, his father had sent after he’d been paraded around in front of various colleagues that had to work on Sunday. It was a fine journal. Very nice quality, actually. Hand tooled black leather, and his name inscribed on the cover in gold leaf. The pages, after he’d taken a look at them, were high quality. The binding of the journal was clean and perfect. The pen that had come with it was a fancy metal number. Nicely balanced. A comfortable grip. Not that Peter noticed that since he preferred regular, cheap ballpoints. But it was a nice touch.

It was… strange the way his father was treating him after mass. All the way up until he was left in the penthouse after having dinner with Arthur and a couple of his colleagues. He didn’t miss the mental probes on his mind’s defenses. And decided to let some of what he knew slip Just enough to get both Arthur and Mr. Parkman to let up lest he get a headache defending against them both. He decided to go with the exploding man incident, since he could see down into the plaza from any of the windows of the place. He had dressed it up nicely by obscuring certain faces and replacing some with others.

Peter looked up from his thoughts when he heard the door behind him open. He reached for the pen and journal, pulling them into his lap before taking the breaks off and turning his chair around. There, standing in the doorway was someone he hadn’t expected to see. Someone he wasn’t due to meet for quite a long while yet.

“Hello,” he said with a genuine smile at the teenage girl standing there.

“My dad told me to come keep you company,” she said. “He’s in a meeting right now.” He rolled towards her, stopped, and offered his hand.

“My name’s Peter.”

She hesitated before taking his hand in her own and giving it a brief shake. “I’m Simone,” she said, breaking into a smile. “You want to watch some TV?”

He shrugged. “Sure. I think I saw one around here somewhere…”

Gabriel found himself hanging out in Kirby Plaza every Sunday. And every Sunday there he would be. Sometimes he got to see him leave in the evening, but usually only arriving around lunch time. Almost always with Arthur Petrelli. Twice, so far, with Angela.

Without fail he’d wake up early, feel that compulsion to go there, and wait by the sculpture. He didn’t understand it, but he had started planning his week around it. He looked forward to just the briefest glimpse of the familiar face. Often it was the only thing that could get him through the day.

And then in late November, the compulsion didn’t hit. He went to Kirby Plaza anyway, as he’d gotten into the habit of it over the months. And yet Peter didn’t show.

The next week the same thing. There was no sign of Peter. And he was getting… aggravated wasn’t quite the word. Neither was annoyed. Though he lacked his abilities, even his first - the only one that was ever truly his own - he still felt the anger rising up. Just being able to see him, even if it wasn’t HIS Peter Petrelli, was enough to ease the ache in his chest every time he thought about him. Every time he dreamed about him. And now… Now he had nothing to cling to. No memories from Nathan on which to draw upon to fill the void left behind by their separation. No Emma to cling to when Peter wasn’t around and the Hunger started to creep in.

No battles to fight or wars to win.

And then, on December 7th, a day that was already starting to not exactly go that well. He’d woken up late, lost his razor, misplaced one of his comfortable shoes resulting in him having to wear his uncomfortable ones, hadn’t had time to eat before he left the apartment, and had spilled coffee all over his workbench resulting in the ruination of an entire book of invoices and the order form for the pieces he needed for an Austrian grandfather clock that was already a week overdue because the pieces he needed were on backorder.

So on this particular Saturday, Gabriel Gray was not in the best of moods when he answered the phone.

_ “This is gonna sound really weird, but do you have someone working there named Gabriel Gray?” _

Which was promptly fumbled when he heard the not-quite familiar voice on the other end and realized after a few words who it was.

“Y… Yes,” Gabriel managed to force out. “I’m Gabriel Gray. How can I help you?”

_ “This might sound weird again so hang up if you want but have you ever forced two people to sit and watch you eat an entire sweet potato pie by yourself?” _

“Okay. That IS weird. But honestly that’s the first thing you could think of, Peter? Really? THAT Thanksgiving?”

_ “Oh thank God!” _ Peter’s young voice exclaimed before cracking some. _ “Finally! Do you have any idea how many watch repair shops are in Queens? Let alone the entirety of New York City?! And THEN I realize you LIVE in Queens and work… this thing says Brooklyn. Brooklyn! I’ve been calling places damn near all day!” _

“You couldn’t just look through a phone book and find one that clearly has the name Gray in it like a normal person, could you? It would have helped narrow down your search, Peter.”

_ “Okay yeah. Should have done that. Look, I need you to come to my parents’ house. I, uh… It’s hard to explain…” _

“Alright. Now think of an excuse. I’m coming over this evening after work.”

_ “Today?” _

“Yes today. I-” Gabriel started, but stopped himself. No, that was something best explained in person. He pulled a soiled, but dried invoice closer and snatched up his pen. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Peter had to come up with an excuse. Something - anything - to find his lifeline in this madhouse. And it just happened that his father was out of town for two weeks and an argument between the maid and the cook had presented the perfect opportunity.

His mother was out with Nathan, and then of course she would be indisposed until Tuesday with Mr. Nakamura in town for business. With Arthur gone, it was a rare period with just the staff. And the fight between the maid and cook gave him a great bit of blackmail to hold over their heads.

So he’d had one of them grab him a phone book, promising to cover for them but they would have to pay for the repairs to his mother’s antique mantle clock. As he flipped through the yellow pages for clock repair shops, Peter was mentally kicking himself for not thinking of this sooner. Gabriel was a watchmaker. He was from Queens. Unfortunately, as he went through the pages, there were a lot more than he expected.

But one by one, Peter called. And he asked for a specific watchmaker. “Oh, but my uncle Tim told me this guy was the best… Unfortunately he lost the guy’s card… No? Do you know of any other shop I could try?... No no. He was very adamant about this particular guy. Yeah. Thanks anyway.”

And on it went. Until finally he ran out of ads in the Yellow Pages.

With a great, overly dramatic sigh, because he was frustrated, Peter turned to the business section of the White Pages. And after getting himself a drink, he started again. And again.

And again.

Until… Jackpot. _ Gray & Sons. _In… Brooklyn?

When he hung up the phone, Peter slammed the phone book closed and gave a shout. “Lucinda! Hey! Lucinda!” he exclaimed, rolling away from the console table in the hallway. He couldn’t help but grin as he made his way to the foyer. “Lucinda!” he called out again, hoping the maid could hear him.

He stopped at the base of the stairs and pushed himself around in a circle. The maid appeared on the landing above. “There’s no need to go screaming through the house like that young man!”

“I found someone to fix the clock! He’ll be here this evening!”

“Here? To the house?!”

Peter nodded. “Yeah well, after I told the guy why I can’t bring it in,” he said, gesturing to his legs. “He was really cool about it. Said he makes house calls sometimes for really old folks.”

“Still don’t mean you can go runnin’ all over the house screamin’ like a loon. Just because your momma’s not home doesn’t mean-”

“Look, just… keep an eye out for him okay? Let me know when he gets here.”

Peter smiled broadly when the maid led him back to the foyer. “Mr. Gray!”

Gabriel had been left standing near the front door. He had a black messenger bag hanging off his shoulder and wore a brown coat, beneath which he could see… was that a waistcoat and tie? He was looking around himself at the lavish entryway while he waited. And when he looked towards Peter as he entered, there was a shift in his gaze. Concern shadowed over curiosity. To the casual observer, of course, this was… nothing of note. No change. But to Peter, who had spent most of his life around the man…

“You must be Mr. Petrelli.”

“Call me Peter. Mr. Petrelli’s my dad. And my brother,” he replied. “I’m sorry to have you come over straight after work, Mr. Gray. Have you eaten?”

Gabriel glanced at the maid before looking back at Peter. “I don’t want to impose-”

Peter clapped his hands. “It’s settled then. Lucinda, not a word to my parents or I rat you both out,” he said. “We’ll have dinner in the family parlor so Mr. Gray can take a look at Ma’s clock.”

“Please, call me Gabriel. Mr. Gray makes me sound old,” Gabriel said with a small laugh. He tugged on the strap of his bag, adjusting the weight on his shoulder. “Lead the way.”

Peter rolled forward just to get enough clearance to turn around. He glanced back only once, knowing that Gabriel was right behind him. The maid followed.

Once Peter and Gabriel were settled into the family parlor, and the maid brought sandwiches and fries (“Can’t you see he’s working? Finger foods only, Lucinda. Much easier to eat while you work that way.”), he made sure the door was locked behind her. “God I miss my abilities.”

Gabriel put down his screwdriver. This was soon followed by the loupe he’d had clipped to his glasses. “Give it about ten more years, Peter, and you won’t be missing them anymore.” He sat back and turned so he could watch the teenager carefully maneuver around the room. “So what happened? What’s with the chair?”

“I… dropped in while taking a joyride in my dad’s new Porsche.”

“What?”

“I didn’t wreck last time. But this time... I uh… didn’t make the turn. Ended up in a coma for two months and here we are.” He opened his arms and let them hang over the sides of his chair. “I can pop a pretty mean wheelie in this thing. Downside, I really miss stairs. Once I find someone to heal my legs, I swear I’m never missing leg day again.”

Gabriel threw a fry at him before wiping his hands with a napkin. “Does everything down below-”

“Everything,” Peter said flatly. “I’ve got a plan, but it’s slow moving. My parents think I have an ability.”

“Which one?”

“Dreams. They have me… well, had me, going to this place in Kirby Plaza. Haven’t been in a while but I did usually get to spend Saturdays out with Nathan.”

“What did they do to you?”

“Mostly tried to get inside my head. Ran a couple of sleep studies. Drew some blood. Haven’t had my memories erased yet so that’s a tick in the plus column.”

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Peter… Calling me like this-”

“I needed to be sure you came back with me. I can’t do this alone, Gabriel.”

“So you broke a clock-”

“No. The maid and the cook were fighting. She got mad and threw a shoe and… it hit Ma’s clock.”

“And what would you have done if I hadn’t been me? If I were still that weak willed, sniveling worm I used to be?”

“Then I guess we’d have to hire a new maid and cook then wouldn’t we. But at least I’d know for sure.”

Before Gabriel leaves, three hours after his arrival, the clock still isn’t working. It’s old and needs custom parts. From Venice. Gabirel says he’ll take a look around the shop to see if there’s anything he can substitute, but he doubts it. They catch up on everything since their arrival, leaving no details out. Gabriel’s life seems a bit boring, but they agree that’s for the best. It means he can come and go and get things set up for when Peter runs off from his family. It means Gabriel can actively work towards a goal they had both independently set for themselves. Ultimately Peter’s just glad for another excuse to see him again.

Before the door is unlocked, Peter grabs his hand and for the first time in months he feels… not quite settled, but at ease. He sighs, holding the larger hand in his own a moment before bringing it to his cheek. It’s a simple touch, but he relishes it. There’s so few gentle touches outside the slightly clinical ones from the nurses and doctors. The scientists hired by his father, and extension The Company, are always so cold and yank him around like a rag doll.

Gabriel looked down at him before moving his hand, fingers tracing the familiar scar down the young man’s face. He had hoped he was mistaken when he’d caught glimpses from a distance. But… “Your captivity? The Virus?” he asks, because he’s wanted to ask all evening but couldn’t bring himself to do so. Just in case… Just in case their souls - and Gabriel was most ardently believing that’s exactly what they were - weren’t the only things sent back through time. “Did it truly scar you so deeply, Peter?”

He tried to turn his face away, but Gabriel held him by the chin, making him look up at him before leaning down. He was slow, not wanting to startle him. Mostly because he couldn’t heal and Peter could throw a damn good right hook when he was startled. Or annoyed. Or just generally disgruntled.

Brown eyes searched the scarred face for any sign that he was unwelcome before pressing his lips against Peter’s. He felt a hand go for his hair, toying with the hairline at the base of his neck. Fingers brushing over scar tissue that the doctors had said came from when he hit his head on the toilet. But Gabriel knew better. He knew why the scar was really there. Just as the one on his chest. And Peter’s face.

Peter broke the kiss and pressed their foreheads together, breathing in the scent of synthetic clock oil and a very familiar aftershave that had he the full use of his lower extremities he’d have had no problem throwing the man on the table and jumping him right then and there. Sadly... “I have missed you, Gabriel.”

“One, you’re sixteen for a few more weeks and this state is really strict on that sort of thing. Two… My apartment isn’t exactly wheelchair friendly at the moment and I wouldn’t want to be accused of kidnapping. Especially by the kind of people your parents are and work with. And three, your father works for the mob. I don’t think you want me to end up in the bottom of a lake with concrete shoes.”

“They don’t actually do that you know. They’re more likely to put you in a woodchipper. Or bury you in a shallow grave.”

Gabriel tilted his face, just a little, to plant a chaste kiss to the corner of Peter’s mouth. “Both are experiences I’d rather not repeat if I can help it. I’ll be back in a few days with more parts for the clock.”

“What will we do when it’s fixed? I can’t… I need you.”

“We’ll figure it out,” he said, brushing the scar on Peter’s cheek with his thumb before he straightened up and returned to the table with the clock. He began packing the parts and his tools away. “Until then, if we can’t make contact, stick with your plan. I’ll keep working on my end to set everything up for us. We can start over. Stop the war from ever happening. Live our lives in peace and, if we’re really lucky, find Emma again.”

Peter was looking forward to this visit. His mother comes home tomorrow, and Gabriel had called to tell him he had some parts that would fit the clock, but did have to order a few more. Perhaps if Peter claimed he broke it and took the fall, the house help would be even more indebted to him. He’d get away with a lot more.

It was a suggestion he was not about to ignore.

But that was tomorrow’s problem. Today though… “I asked them to make salmon. I know it’s your favorite. And peach pie for dessert.”

“You hate peach pie.”

“Incidentally I also asked for apple tarts. The cook’s been busy for hours and nicely out of the way,” Peter said. “And the maid’s been busy scrubbing the house from top to bottom because Ma comes home tomorrow. So we’ll be left entirely alone.”

“With the exception of dinner and dessert arriving.”

“Yeah… except that.”

So Peter watched him work. They conversed quietly. Making more plans for the future. Gabriel pointing out flaws in Peter’s and Peter listing off places he could remember being hidden caches belonging to Adam or abandoned Company assets.

The clock was as repaired as it was going to get long before the maid had come to knock on the door with dinner. The cook was behind her with drinks and dessert. “Oh, Lucinda,” Peter called before the two left the room. “Alonso. The clock won’t be ready in time for Ma to come home. Mr. Gray has to special order parts from Italy.” The maid turned white as a sheet, and was probably already mentally updating her resume. He let them sweat a moment longer. “I’m going to tell my mother that I broke it while tossing my stress ball around or something. I’ll pay for the repairs out of my allowance, but you will be paying me back.”

After being profusely thanked, Peter had smiled and blushed and made the two feel like they were more important than they really were. Which made them more than happy to help Peter. As long as he didn’t tell his mother and father the dirty little secrets he knew.

“What was that about, really? It’s more than a broken clock,” Gabriel said as he locked the door behind the two hired help.

“She found out about his wife and kids in Guam,” he said with a shrug. “And the ones in Florida.” Peter reached for his bottle of pop. “And the mistress in the Bronx.”

Gabriel stared at him, slightly dumbfounded as Peter reached for the nearest plate. “And Alonso found out Lucinda’s been stealing Ma’s jewelry for years.”

It was… nice, being able to just sit and talk. To see each other. To stroke Peter’s hand. To entangle his fingers in his hair as they traded hurried, hungry kisses. To look into his eyes and still see the man who had, despite everything, come to save him so he could help save the world.

The same man who searched New York for him and brought him back out of the darkness that had been starting to crowd back in. That first time after the Carnival…

“What are you thinking?” Peter asked quietly, his thumb rubbing circles into Gabriel’s wrist as they sat on the slightly uncomfortable two-seater sofa, Peter’s chair a few feet away. “You seem down.”

“That I have to go soon,” he replied.

“That’s not it,” Peter insisted.

Gabriel shook his head with a small smile, moving his hand so Peter couldn’t keep doing that - the bastard knew what it did to him - and brought his hand up to cup his cheek. “I’ll call when the parts come in. Have a proper invoice written up so it looks right on paper for your mother.”

Peter brought a hand up to put over Gabriel’s, turning his face to lay a kiss to his palm. “We won’t be able to do this again next time we see one another.”

“No, we won’t. But if we can pull this off we’ll have the rest of our lives together. A little self sacrifice now just gets it out of the way sooner rather than later.”

“When did you turn into an optimist?”

“When a goody-two-shoes hero decided he was going to save my soul whether I liked it or not.”

When Gabriel left after dark, the mantle clock under his arm, he left Peter with two cards for his shop. One to give to his mother, and the other with his home address and number scribbled on the back in their old war code. He kept this card in his wallet, and his wallet with him at all times.

Peter was allowed to resume his Saturday outings with Nathan. And the trips to Kirby Plaza resumed. As did the sleep tests. And the blood work.

His seventeenth birthday came and went, and soon after the Petrelli household got a call from the very nice gentleman at _ Gray & Sons Clock Repair _where he spoke first to Peter, then to Angela Petrelli about the state of her clock.

Once the clock was back on the mantle at home, Peter was given yet another lecture about it but was commended for taking the initiative and fixing his mistake. The maid and the cook paid him half back, and the second half closer to New Years.

New Years Eve was… interesting to say the least.

He was taken to the Hartsdale facility, by his mother. It was a Tuesday. Which was meant to be his English and Literature tutor’s day to come by. But given the fact it was a holiday, Peter wasn’t sure which he preferred. His tutor or being taken deeper into Company territory.

One thing was certain. He did not expect to find himself waiting in a room with Elle Bishop, Hiro Nakamura, or Simone Deaveux.

“Oh! You’re new!” the teenage electric shock machine had exclaimed after Peter had basically been rolled in and left on his own. She came up and perched herself on a table right in front of him, grinning all the while. “So what can you do, scar face?”

“What? Do?”

“Everyone brought here can do something. Well, except for geek boy over there. But he doesn’t count. He’s just here because his daddy doesn’t have anywhere else to leave him while he’s working.”

“I can’t really do anything. I’m just here for some… tests on my back and legs I guess.”

“Ugh! You’re so depressing!” Elle exclaimed before she hopped off the table, shocked him with barely enough force to call it static, and went to go bug Simone. Which ultimately led to Hiro putting down his game, pushing up his glasses, and staring awkwardly at her while Peter wondered in a passing thought, if the room always smelled so sweet and spicy at the same time and tried to place where he’d smelled it before.

He was just getting aggravated that the smell was very appealing and yet despite his brain deciding he really liked it while the rest of him did absolutely nothing in response to what his brain had decided, the door opened and a young man had come in following…. Oh no….

That’s when the sweet and spicy scent to the air suddenly vanished. And that’s when Peter realized where he’ smelled the scent before. And he’d thought it was Simone’s perfume at the time. Dear lord it was a pheromone.

“Simone, settle down sweetie,” Mr. Bishop said genially. Peter wanted to slap that smile off his face. “Elle, what have I told you about bothering the other guests?”

“Not to shock people who don’t ask to be shocked.”

“Good girl. Now, Peter we’re ready for you in the lab.”

“If he breaks, can I keep him daddy?” Elle said sweetly from her seat still near Simone.

“Elle…” her father said in a warning tone. She mumbled under her breath and Peter put his hands to his wheels. He didn’t want to spend another second more than he had to in this madhouse.

Outside the room, he noticed Rene walking a few feet behind him and Mr. Bishop.

“Can I ask you a question, Mr. Bishop?”

“Of course, Peter. And please, call me Bob.”

Internally he cringed at the familiarity the man preferred. “Alright. Bob,” he said. “Why am I here? I thought all of my medical tests were being done at the Kirby Plaza location by my father’s doctors.”

“They were, Peter,” the man said, never losing that overly friendly tone to his voice. “But your mother was concerned about the accuracy of one of the tests and wants us to conduct it here to see if we get different results.”

Peter willed his face with all his might not to show any fear but inside he was screaming. This was… not going to work. He should have known they’d have a way to check if he had an ability or not. Hell, they might even know WHAT ability he had or didn’t have as the case was.

“I ... which test?”

“The sleep test.”

Peter nodded and was cursing himself for that decision. Though admittedly it was more plausible than most considering his mother also had it. “Oh… but I’m not tired.”

“I know. Which is why we’re going to conduct it in a more natural way. Your mother suggested we wait until you are tired enough to go to sleep on your own rather than inducing sleep. I have to agree with her that it is a much better course of action considering your age.”

Peter knew the real reason. It had nothing to do with his age. She had told him the secret to her power years ago in the church where he and his brother were both christened. Where she married the love of her life and the monster that also tried to ruin her. To receive the dreams, sleep had to be earned. It had to be natural and real. No drugs. No chemicals. No outside inducement in any form.

Peter was released New Years Day into the care of his mother.

And he was very confused.

According to his results, which were vastly different than the ones Arthur’s specialists got from his tests at Kirby Plaza, the center of his brain that activates when an ability is in use… was lit up like fireworks were going off. Though he wasn’t meant to know what they were looking for. He wasn’t meant to recognize anything on the brain scans that were taken in his sleep. And so he played dumb.

But he clearly had an active ability.

Claircognizance was a term he heard a few times, but wasn’t quite sure what it was. A furtive whisper from Angela had been one of surprise, “Perhaps it mimics precognitive dreaming because it developed while he was in the coma.”

Peter made notes in his journal, knowing it was read every week by his father and his advisors. After all, he was meant to write down whatever dreams came to him. He never knew when one would be important. He pretended to be listening to the Walkman on the table next to his journal. It was on, of course, but he didn’t have the volume on, instead listening to the whispered conversations of Bob and Angela.

On Saturday, Nathan couldn’t make it. So Angela took him out and about.

They ended up at a nice restaurant, which explained why Angela insisted he wear something “decent” which meant almost a suit. So he settled on black slacks and a blue button down long sleeve shirt and the most garish coat he owned.

Peter was quite surprised to be met at a fancy lunch with Charles Deaveux and Bob Bishop waiting for them. A quick count of the place settings told him they were expecting one more at their table. Looking around he noticed the dining room was actually empty save for a skeletal wait staff.

Peter frowned as he wheeled up to the table hesitantly, putting on the breaks next to the chair that Mr. Deveaux pulled out for his mother. He gave a quiet hello to the two men and sat with his hands in his lap and at a loss for what to do. He paid little attention until a plate was set on the charger in front of him. In the center was a round dish. He looked up from the vase of flowers in the center of the table he’d been staring at to see, surprisingly, Mr. Linderman with an apron and a rolling cart covered in plates.

“Daniel you didn’t have to go to all the trouble,” Angela said as a plate was set in front of her.

“It’s a new recipe,” the man said proudly. And Peter could feel the man’s pride with every plate that was set down. With every word that came out of his mouth. The amusement coming off Mr. Deveaux to his left. The fondness of his mother towards this mobster chef with every look she gave him. Bob seemed… apprehensive as he looked at the pot pie in front of him, but that’s all that elicited such a reaction from him. Delight came off the man in waves when he wasn’t looking at the pot pie.

Mr. Linderman took off his apron and left it draped on the handle of the cart before he sat down in the empty seat. He chuckled at Bob’s hesitant poking with his fork. “I promise this time it doesn’t have a live bird in it.”

Peter couldn’t help himself from exclaiming, “You put a live bird in a pot pie?!”

“An old friend of ours told me about a technique from home where one bakes a pot pie and cuts a small hole in the crust, just barely big enough to slip a bird inside,” Mr. Linderman said with a smile. “I thought I’d give it a whirl on April Fools. Your brother thought it was the greatest magic trick he’d ever seen.”

“Nathan was five,” Angela said, picking up her wine glass. “He thought everything was the greatest magic trick he’d ever seen.” She took a sip.

Peter couldn’t deny that the meal was good. He wasn’t allowed any wine, but the fruity juice drink was alright. He noticed part way through the meal that they didn’t hide anything of their Company dealings from him. Well, not much that he didn’t already know from reading through old archives in a Nevada bunker. He made a note to himself to ask his mother about that later, as he was sure it was something he did not want to get bogged down in. Not when he had plans with Gabriel. Plans he’d rather see put into motion before 2006 came around.

When lunch broke up, and Mr. Bishop and Mr. Deveaux had left, Angela had him follow her and Mr. Linderman to another room as the wait staff cleaned up behind their luncheon.

He found that he’d followed them into an office. Like all the offices he saw these days, it was very nicely done. “I’m starting to think you all share one single interior designer,” he muttered under his breath. Mr. Linderman stifled a chuckle as he leaned against the office desk and folded his arms over his chest. “I’m sure you have questions, Peter, about why your mother brought you here today.”

“You could say that.”

“Your dreams, Peter,” Angela said as she placed her hand on the arm of a black chair with strange, squiggly looking arms. He wondered if they were meant to look like tentacles. “You have come to realize they are not ordinary dreams.” Peter didn’t respond, choosing instead to see where his mother was going with this.

“Perhaps I should show him something special Angela dear. It might just help him open up to what you need to say.”

She rolled her eyes and waved a hand with a huff. “You’re always wanting to show off. Oh go ahead. I wanted to save it for when we were done.”

“Save what?”

“Do you believe in miracles, Peter?”

He raised a brow, feeling the scar tissue pull a bit so he was certain he looked just awkward instead of unimpressed.

“May I see your hand, young man?”

Peter did his best to appear as if he was thinking it over. Feigning hesitance, he put his hand out and hoped the files he’d read on the man had been correct. He could sense hope coming off his mother and a warmth flooding him from his hand and trailing up his arm. The fatigue from constantly rolling himself around faded as the warmth continued to spread. Across his chest into his other arm. Up his neck and into his head. And down… down to the numb and motionless void down below.

He yelped and nearly pulled his hand away when he felt a snap in his lower back, and crack further up between his shoulders followed by a series of successive pops up and down his spine before he felt a tingling sensation in his toes.

This felt like nothing he’d ever experienced before. And he was rather ashamed to say it felt rather… pleasing once other parts of his body seemed to come alive again with newfound fire. Panicking in front of his mother he reached back and took his coat off the handle of his chair to cover his lap. Pins and needles were not enough to deter what was going on in those trousers. He could feel his cheeks heat up, but didn’t know if it was embarrassment or the healing touch of Mr. Linderman’s ability being used on him.

Finally, the man let go and Peter looked away from them both.

“Well damn. That one didn’t heal away.”

“What this?” he asked, dragging a hand down his face and feeling the scar tissue there.

“How do you feel, Peter?”

He stared at them both before down at his own legs. Admittedly he had been trying to get to some method of healing, and once he’d been taken to Hartsdale he’d settled on trying to find a way to get access to Adam… or at least his blood. But this was not how he expected this to go. It was a lot sooner than he had anticipated.

“Why don’t you try to stand, Peter.”

His head snapped up to look at Mr. Linderman before he turned his attention to his mother. She’d moved to the edge of her seat, hands fidgeting in front of her with a tissue. “But I’m… I’m paralyzed.”

“Humour me,” he said, offering his hands to the teenager, palms up. “Put the breaks on first though. Don’t want you to slip up and undo all that hard work.”

Peter looked down at his lap again. “Can you uh… can I have a minute to think of…” his voice was nearly a squeak. “Something else?”

After a few long moments of picturing Noah Bennet in a thong and God was he messed up that even THAT took a while to work, he finally took the coat off his lap and offered it to his mother. She stood up to take it from him and with a deep breath, Peter put the breaks on his chair and watched one of his feet twitch in anticipation. He exhaled slowly and gave a nod. Reaching out, he took the man’s hands and let himself be helped up to his feet.

He was unsteady at first, not having used them in so long. Not being able to stand for months and months and suddenly his perspective of the world has changed again and he was letting go of the mobster’s hands and grabbing his mother. Holding her tight as she cried into his shirt. Tears of relief and joy and, Peter was surprised to realize, actual genuine love.

“Thank you,” he found himself whispering, and meaning it as he held his mother close. “I don’t… I don’t know if I can ever repay you for this.”

“Not all gifts are rooted in nightmares of all the evil in the world, Peter. It’s all in how you use your gift.”

“But I don’t have a… I can’t touch people and heal them. I just… I know things. Dream things.”

“And it is a very special ability that you have. One that can do a lot of good in the world, Peter.”

He had to keep using his chair for a while at home. He was sent to Las Vegas for a month to stay out of sight. His father didn’t know a damn thing, Peter learned. The man believed his younger son had gone for some experimental surgery on his back. But Peter knew he couldn’t get something for nothing. So he had to make a hard choice.

Give Linderman information to help him avoid a future criminal investigation led by his brother or… offer another form of repayment. He wasn’t too fond of his options considering he was far too young, physically, to even walk into the casinos downstairs in the hotel.

After sneaking away to use a payphone - and God was he grateful for those now that he had access to them again - he called Gabriel when he knew the man would be home. Peter kept feeding change into the thing after a while just to hear his voice once they’d said all they needed to say.

“When I get back to New York, I swear I’ll find a way to get out more. Come see you.”

_ “You have to be careful-” _

“I know. I’ve got another eleven months before I can walk and there’s not a damn thing anyone can do about it.”

_ “It’s not just that, Peter. You know they might have access to people like Molly Walker.” _

“It’s a risk I’ll take. I can’t stay there with Arthur any longer than I have to. Now that my ability has started to emerge I… I can recognize the sickness in him now. It’s suffocating, Gabriel. It’s poison. I can’t believe I didn’t sense this the first time.”

_ “The first time you didn’t know what it was. Has anyone penetrated your mind?” _

“Not that I know of. But sometimes when I’m having a nightmare I… some stuff slips past the Wall.”

_ “You visualize a wall?” _

“Don’t you?” Peter retorted. “I mean, I’m no Matt Parkman, but I figured it was so good at keeping us in that it might work for keeping people out.”

_ “I’ll have to try that. Just in case.” _

“Just don’t get stuck behind it again. I can’t copy abilities yet so you’ll be stuck for centuries this time before I can drag your sorry ass back out of there.”

The recorded voice of the payphone troll told them Peter was almost out of time. And when he looked at his pocket, he was out of change.

“Look, I got to go. I’ll be back in New York sometime around mid March. I’ll get in touch then.” The payphone troll popped up again. Peter didn’t want to say goodbye. So instead his last few precious seconds were given over to a rushed, “I love you,” before the poor idiot man-child slammed the phone back on the hook.

When he snuck back into the hotel and back to his suite, he’d made his decision. After all, it was the pressure of the Linderman case that caused his father to try and kill Nathan, which caused him to fly. That in turn later caused Heidi to become embittered and biased towards people with abilities. And it festered. And she resented Nathan and everyone in his family. She’d used her sons as bait to be rid of all the Evos in her life.

Maybe… if he could prevent her first exposure being so… negative, then he could save so many others a lot of grief. He sat down and took out his fancy pen and the black journal from his bag. And he began to write.

All the while, Peter hoped he was doing the right thing.


End file.
